


Neverending

by Avistella



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 03:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10267589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avistella/pseuds/Avistella
Summary: There is a beginning and perhaps an end?





	

It starts off as a dream, or perhaps a memory. Perhaps even both.

It's a waltz, Zen realizes. He takes the lead while you follow, bodies moving in tandem with each other as the two of you stare at each other, matching the other person's smile. It's just the two of you together, or at least, that's what it feels like to Zen. The world around him doesn't matter because his entire world is already standing in front of him, warmth pooling to your cheeks the longer the two of you dance together.

No words are exchanged, the two of you opting to let your bodies do the talking instead, though there is the occasional parting of lips to let out a laugh. Your eyelashes bat together as you tilt your head to the side, a quiet invitation hidden behind your eyes and lips. Zen is more than happy to accept, leaning forward and kissing you.

But then, like all good things, the dream ends.

Zen's eyes flutter open, his mind still hazy. His body shivers, finding the room to be awfully cold, and the actor turns his head to look for your warmth, but you're not there. Zen has no choice but to get up by himself, and he swings his legs over to the side of his bed. The young man takes a moment to stretch, his body still feeling awfully heavy.

Zen goes to stand up, but his knees tremble from his weight, and the actor goes crashing down to the floor. He groans, using his arms to support himself as he moves to sit up before rubbing all the sore spots. Zen tries to stand up again, this time holding on to something, and he's able to bring himself to his feet once more.

He staggers and sways as he heads to his washroom to freshen himself up. Zen knocks on the door, a habit he picked up since that one time he accidentally walked in on you just as you got out of the shower. You don't respond, so Zen assumes that the washroom is empty. He steps inside and goes about his usual morning routine, all the while wondering what he should do today. His director had given him some time off after all.

Maybe the actor should just sleep in. ...No, Zen was already up, so he might as well do something, but first, he needed to get some food into his system. The young man glances through his fridge and realizes that he's started to run low on food. He then directs his gaze to the kitchen sink, and he grimaces. Zen promised he would wash the dishes eventually but kept on putting it off, distracted by other things. He makes another mental note to do it soon, knowing that you would chide him the moment you see the messy sight.

Another chill courses through Zen, and he rubs his arms together to warm himself up. Maybe the window was open, the actor thinks idly to himself, and sure enough, it is. He must have forgotten to shut it last night when he smoked a couple of cigarettes, knowing how much you hated the smell and thus decided to smoke by the window and appreciate the stars.

Zen goes to shut the window, and then, he's greeted with nothing but silence. It's almost unsettling, and Zen laughs to calm himself. Yes, that's all he's been doing as of late. Laughing to relieve himself. Laughing to alleviate the aching pain in his chest because crying is just too much work, but he does so anyways.

The tears that he thought were all dried up start flowing from his cheeks again, and the sounds that leave the male are ugly but raw. It's a mixture of laughter and sobs, but they start to melt to nothing but low guttural sounds, almost as though he was dying.

But that wasn't the case. After all, Zen was already dead. His heart—a very important part of him—died that night.

The actor remembers it well, and he can't help but wonder if it's because of his career that helps him remember each detail so vividly. It had been one whole year since you joined the RFA. One whole year since you and Zen started dating each other. The RFA decided to host another party since the previous one was such a success, and everyone was excited to get back into the groove of things.

This party was different from the previous one and lasted late into the night instead. Everything was going so well until Seven started screaming, hysteric, for everyone to get out, warning the people that there was a bomb. Naturally, everybody panicked, and there was chaos everywhere. Zen tried to look for you amongst the crowd, but he couldn't find you.

The actor tried to push back against the crowd, reluctant to leave without you, but someone held him back, a firm hand gripping the male's arm. Zen snapped his attention towards who it was and growled. "Jumin, let me go! I don't have time for you!"

Jumin didn't budge. "We need to get to safety," the corporate heir tried to keep his voice even, but there was no denying the underlying fear and panic laced underneath.

"But—"

"She might already be outside," Jumin interrupted, knowing full well what the actor was about to say. "Seven said we need to leave. _Now_!"

...Except you weren't outside. No, you weren't even able to take a single step outside, caught in the blast along with some other unfortunate souls who just weren't fast enough.

It took some time before your body was found in the debris. Everyone in the RFA held Zen back, knowing that the sight would just break him. Ruin him. But even so, Zen still wanted to see, so he desperately fought and struggled against everyone. ...In the end, the actor was never able to see your corpse, and perhaps that was for the best.

* * *

You stand in the middle of Zen's apartment, though it really feels more like you're floating. It's been weeks since the accident—your death—but you somehow find yourself still staying in that small and cozy place you called home. The sun's starting to rise, and you realize that Zen would be waking up about now. You go into your— _his_ room, you correct yourself, and you admire his sleeping form. He seemed to be having a good dream, and you're thankful that even if it was just for a moment, he's able to find some comfort.

Zen's eyes open, and for a moment, you become flustered when your eyes meet his, but then you remember that he can't see you. A wry smile creeps up onto your lips, and you reach out a hand to stroke his cheek. Zen shudders the moment you make contact, and you immediately retract your hand.

Your gaze follows him as he heads towards the washroom, and your heart clenches at the way his body still goes by the memory of when you were still alive, knocking on the door before entering. He had no reason to knock anymore. It will always be empty until Zen finds someone new. _If_ he finds someone new.

You continue to follow the actor, wanting to make sure that he was taking care of himself, but you know that he wasn't. Yes, he functioned, but just barely. Your hand reaches out once more to touch him, missing his warmth, but the actor only shudders instead.

It isn't long before the all too familiar scene plays out again. It starts with a laugh to ease the pain, but it isn't enough, so the young man merely accepts it and starts crying once more. He sobs and whimpers, your name spilling out of his lips in addition to his tears. Zen's heart aches, and so does yours, but neither of you can do anything to help.

Perhaps there is no end to this nightmare.


End file.
